Anya
by Blue Jean Genie
Summary: Anya Jacqueline is quite unaware about her past. She takes a vow to take care of her mistress's baby, late wife of Derack Fox, now called Captain Jack Sparrow, who doesn't know she is the one he has been paid to find. Soon their destinies are entwined
1. Chapter 1

Chapter one: A plot and a plan

Torches lined the stone walls, casting an eerie glow as a somewhat tall rakish man made his way through the passage way, to guards flanking him easily. He walked with a swagger, though a trace of a limp was detected. His left hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, and his right was on the handle of his pistol. He was a guest, true, but he was still wary. Betrayal was something one could not forget, so one does not place ones' self heartily and unprotected in the face of danger, even if it might not be there.

The third man following had yet to see the face of the visitor due to the heavy traveling cloak he wore, in rich and heavy velvet pulled low over his brow. All he knew was that he was an honored guest, and was to be sent to fetch something. That was all.

"Enter," a voice called out as one of the guards knocked on the large wooden door at the end of the hallway. The door opened and the party entered; the guards placing themselves by the doors, the visitor standing in the middle of the room, in front of the desk, and the third man behind the desk and the host.

"Well Mr. Fox, have you thought why you are here?" the host asked. He was elderly, though still a tough component on the battle field. A lord of some right, and vaguely related to the slightly dead Howard line. His long beard was pure white, as was his curly hair under his circlet. He wore heavy robes of ermine and silk which suggested wealth in other ways then his title. His dark eyes twinkled with some unknown merriment and his face held a smirk.

"I have; many in fact. But I wish to hear the real reason," the guest, Mr. Fox, said curtly.

"And?"

"Lord Hanover, I am completely unaware at this point as to why I am here. Your son has kept quiet as well," Mr. Fox gestured to the third man, standing behind Lord Hanover. Francis Hanover nodded slightly. He was an imitation of his father, though with jet black hair–minus the beard. He was striking, but he looked as if his skin was stretched too tight about his frame.

"Very well then. I would like you to go to your home; the Caribbean. Jamaica, of course. And fetch me a maid, by the name of Anya Jacqueline and brig her back here."

"And I am doing this because...?" Mr. Fox asked, frowning slightly. Francis narrowed his eyes, still trying to catch a glimpse of the man. The shadows cast by his hood obstructing his view.

"Because, Mr. Fox, I am going to pay you. And..." he raised a finger, smiling at the amount of power he held "a ship. I know little of how you lost your last, but I will give you a decent sized vessel. And my son, Francis Hanover, the last of the Hanover line, will acompany you to Jamaica and to fetch this maid."

Mr. Fox blinked. If his hood was pulled back, people would have seen that his mouth was open in shock, and his eyebrows raised in surprise. All they could see; however, was the sparkling of his eyes, that were black in satisfaction and anticipation, and something else that no one in the room could name.

"Why do you want a simple maid?"

"Because she is not a simple maid." Lord Hanover shrugged. "In fact, if what I think is true, she may be heir to the Russias. She would be a powerful weapon to weild if she is."

"The royal family of Hanover is seeking the throne?" Mr. Fox asked lightly.

"Indeed. Take my son. You will be able to name the ship, because it–"

"She,"

"Will be yours."

"I promise no protection of your son, Hanover. I am a pirate, and therefore I might encounter things on the way to Jamaica. It is a long journey to and fro."

"I realize that, Fox. Now go." Lord Hanover pushed a rather large satchel across his desk, and it fell to Mr. Fox's feet, clinking with gold.

The men left.

888

"Come on you lazy slut," Anya jumped from her perch and quickly ran across the lawn and to the kitchen entrance. Hellene, the head maid was glowering in the doorway, large ham sized arms folded across a never ending bosom. Her jowls were quivering with anger at the young maids daydreams and dawdles.

"Sorry, Hellene." Anya bobbed a curtsy and went past the older woman and into the bustling kitchen.

"You aren't to work here," Hellene snapped as Anya began to chop some carrots for the nights sup. She quickly set down her knife, knowing where she was to go, and slightly dreading it.

Anya Jacqueline climbed the servant's steps two at a time, and smoothed back the thick hair creeping from her bonnet. After knocking twice she entered the room of her mistress.

"Anya, come here child...I feel the weather today," Isabel Fox said from the settee under a large bay window. She was still in her night rail, her light blonde hair falling about her shoulders and back. The large roundness of her belly considerably lower then the day before. Her petite features were pinched in a look of weariness and pain.

"It will rain this afternoon, ma'am," Anya ventured, scurrying to her mistress's side and after a curtsy, kneeled besides her.

"My husband will be here tonight," Isabel said, glancing out of the window, and biting her lip. Everyone knew that Isabel Fox was bearing another man's child. Mr. Fox knew as well. He had already stated that he would take care of it, but became cold towards his wife from that moment on. He was only returning to their home briefly, as the letter stated; he would then go to the southern side of Jamaica, on business.

Anya had only been employed for two weeks at the Fox household. Fleeing from the Governor of Port Royal's service she came here, to Maria and was taken in by the kindly woman as a companion, cook, and if the occasion called for it–midwife. Though Anya knew little about the whole scheme of things when it came to babies, she knew enough if she needed to.

"The house is already prepairing for it," Anya said, trying to sound cheery. Indeed the whole of the place was in an upheaval, making ready for the master's return.

Anya actually loved the make of the house. Set on a small cove, outside of Maria itself, it defined currently building fashion, and instead looked to be more out of the time of King Arthur and Camelot. When they had married; Mr. Fox told Isabel that she would be the queen of her own castle, and built it for her. Three storied tall with turrets on every corner, and leaded windows with stained glass, and a courtyard in the middle. It was indeed the Castle by the Sea.

"Anya," Isabel suddenly said in a harsh whisper, taking the young maid's hand in her own. "I fear that I shant live long enough to see my baby grow. This will kill me. My husband no longer loves me. They say that he has turned pirate..." a sob shook Isabel, and Anya was at a loss of what to do, struck by the way her mistress had shown her feelings; baring her soul.

"They say that he lost his ship," Isabel continued. "And once I am dead, there will be nothing to keep him home. Please...make sure my baby does not grow into piracy."

"Ma'am...I am not fit to take care of a Lady's baby."

"Yes you are!" Isabel cried, clutching tighter to the now scared maid's hand. "I know that somewhere in you is a Lady. You will acomplish great things, Anya Jacqueline. You will become a great Lady...you will do great things,"

Isabel then rested her head on the wall behind her, exhausted.

888

"Master...it was a boy." Hellene said, wiping her hands on her apron, head bowed in sorrow.

"And Isabel?" Mr. Fox asked, jumping up from his bench he had been occupying.

"She is unwell. She wishes to see you."

Mr. Fox quickly rushed into the master suit, and kneeled besides his fastly perishing wife.

"Derack," Isabel sighed, holding tightly to his hand. "Derack," she whispered again.

"Isabel..don't,"

"No, listen. I know what they call you now. Jack Sparrow. Had to stick with the animal last name? The child..." Isabel cast sorrow-filled eyes to a small bundle wrapped in a white sheet, whimpering. "The child will have no mother. It's a boy too. Derack...Jack...I loved you. I always did. But you were never there. Never there."

"Isabel!" The man now called Jack cried, taking his wife in his arms. She gave one last smile, and closed her eyes. "No!" Jack whispered, laying her back down.

"Sir...?" a tentitive voice came from the shadows of a corner.

"Well? What are you doing, hiding around and spying on people? Can't you see that my wife is dead?" Jack shouted, standing and glaring at the small figure, who was now visably cowering behind the large ornate cradle.

"Sir...the mistress said for me to take care of the baby if she died,"

"And your name being?"

Something told Anya not to say her real name. "Jackie, sir,"

"Well...Jackie...I am heading to Port Royal. Take the babe and come with me. I shall set you up there with my sister-in-law. I will pay for the baby's care as well." With weary eyes, Jack dismissed the maid, and kneeled back down by his wife.

He didn't love her, yet he felt her death was his fault.

Another weight was added onto the shoulders of Jack Sparrow. _Captain_ Jack Sparrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ok...lemme clear a few things. One...this is Christina. A friend of mine wrote the other story(go read it!). Two...this is RIGHT AFTER Jack was marooned. Mr. Derack Fox is Jack Sparrow. He had a sort of limp because he had just sustained an injury(its explained later). Three...er...Jack was married...but she DIED. He just lost the Pearl, and he got this large ship in hunting Anya. He doesn't know its Anya on his ship. He thinks shes just a maid called Jackie. He thinks Anya is in Port Royal. Shes on his ship. There. IF there are any more questions, please review and tell me.**

Chapter two: Amnesia

Francis Hanover watched with something near regret as he saw the lush landscape slip away. The small castle on the bluff was showing through, grey on green.

A small baby's wail hit the air, and he quickly turned around to see a young maid scurrying across the deck, a screaming baby wrapped in her arms. She was obviously distressed, and had no clue what to do or where to go.

"Excuse me?" Francis walked over to where she was standing by the main mast, and offered a hand. He quickly withdrew it when he realized she had no hands free to shake with his.

"Im sorry?" She was clearly from England, her voice suggesting Sussex. Her dark brown thick hair was pulled up in a cap, though a few whisps were comind loose. She had large black eyes that were even wider with worry and aggravation. Thick brows were furrowed in annoyance as well. She had a long nose and high cheek bones. Her looks would have been striking, but she also had a line of scars from her chin to her left cheek. She was a slight creature, only coming up to Francis' chest.

"Are you lost? Do you need some help?"

"I..."

"We'll start with your name. And the baby's."

"I'm Jackie, and this is Isaiah."

Francis looked down at the bundle, with light hair and clear blue eyes. "If I may say so...the baby doesn't look a thing like you." Anya laughed, though brittle and piercing.

"I should hope not." She snorted.

"Pardon?"

"The baby is not mine. It is the captain's. And his late wife's. I was told to look after her from Isabel. I never met the captain before the other day." Anya blinked, and brushed a bit of dust off of the bundle, looking irritated once again.

"You seem lost," Francis stated, trying to get off of the subject, as it appeared to be bothering her.

"I am. Do you know where they are keeping the goat?"

"Goat?"

"Yes...for the baby's milk. I saw them bring a goat...but I haven't sailed before." Francis shrugged.

"You are lucky then. Most people who haven't sailed get sick. When we were coming from England, I was pea green the whole way." that seemed to make Anya laugh, and she looked around again.

"It is a big ship," she admitted. "But I fear the baby's hungry, and I haven't any clue where that damn goat might be."

Francis took her by the shoulder and led her down a small flight of steps, and into a somewhat large room. There was a long table, with two benches on either side in the middle(a bowl of apples on that) and cupboards lining the back wall. A small ship's stove was situated on the east wall along with a long counter. Anya took this to be the kitchen.

"Hutt?" Francis called. A stout man turned from where he was standing, chopping vegetables.

"Aye?" he called. He was rather plump, with a beard more grey then brown. Though his face was crinkled in the places one gets when one laughs. He wiped his hands on his breeches.

"Can you go see where this goat for the baby is? It's hungry." Francis bid Anya to sit at the bench, and she did so when the man named Hutt started out.

"Am I te brig it in 'ere?"

"Could you get the milk?" Anya asked hopefully. Her hand went to the small pouch by her hip, but Francis quickly stopped it.

"Who's babe?" Hutt asked.

"The captain's, Josh."

"Ah..." the man left, tutting.

"Who was that?" Anya asked in a small whisper.

"Mr. Josh Hutt. Pretty much an everything on the ship."

"An everything?"

"He does everything. I believe he knew the captain on his last vessel." Anya straightend the now whimpering baby in her lap, and looked up with curious eyes.

"This wasn't his first?"

"No." Francis said, sighing. "From what I gathered from Hutt and a tibit from my father; Sparrow...the captain..."

"Sparrow?"

"Yes, that's his name."

"I thought it was Fox."

"It was. He changed it before he was marooned. Let me tell the tale, girl!" Francis scolded in mock anger. But he quickly smiled when he saw the girl visably draw back.

"Sorry," Anya whispered, fidgeting with the baby's swaddling.

"Don't be. Now, the captain was marooned by his first mate. He lost the love of his life...the _Black Pearl_. Not just any ship mind you. Supposedly faster then any in the Caribbean. So, the captain after he was marooned..."

"How did he survive?" Anya voiced suddenly.

"What?"

"How did he survive...if he was marooned. From what I've heard of pirates or whatever, when they maroon people...they don't just drop them off in Nassau Port. They usually put them on some deserted place."

Francis shrugged. "I don't know. He was in a bit of limbo. This just happened under a year ago."

"Oh. I have been employed in his house for a few weeks. All I knew was that Miss. Isabel's husband was a sailor, and he was wealthy. That's it."

"Where did you grow up?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Where did you grow up?" Francis asked again. "Who where your parents? What profession? You said Sussex..but you look different."

"I dunno,"

"Pardon?" There seemed to be a lot of that flying around.

"Simply that. I know nothing of my past. I only remember living in a hovel. Then, being in Jamaica. I know nothing else. I have distant flashes..." Anya's eyes darted around the galley, seeing something Francis did not. She raised a hand and touched a small pewter pendant. "And this. I know nothing else," She repeated.

"But...how...?"

"I don't know!"

"Is it amnesia?"

"What is that?" Anya asked, closing her eyes and putting a hand to her forehead.

"It means that you know nothing of your past."

"Then yes. I have amnesia." She straightened up, and frowned, the scars on her face growing white. "You haven't said your name,"

"Oh...Francis. Francis Hanover," He was slightly distracted as Hutt walked back in, carrying a bucket of milk. So distracted, that Francis did not see the look of recignition dawn on the girls face. She knew the name, but she couldn't place it. Something in her heart told her that there was something wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three: Hidden talents

The forth day out around the coast to Port Royal, the captain called that they should anchor near an empty bay, to give the crew a break to go swimming or catch some of the wild game. A fair few stayed on the ship, though there would be rotations.

Anya was content to sit on the deck and sunbathe. Isaiah was on her lap, swaddling taken off and in a simple little under clothes. There was no need for propriety at the moment. He was happily asleep...the sun warming his face.

"Are you going ashore?" Anya cracked a lazy eye open to see Francis standing above her. She squinted at the sun, and he moved into its rays, shadowing her.

"No." She said simply, and closed her eye.

"Not even to swim?"

"Not even to swim." Anya confirmed. She heard Francis walk away, but new and more lighter boot steps soon followed in his wake.

"Should you have the baby out in the sun like that?" Anya opened her eyes and sat up, frowning at the captain.

"He likes it," she shrugged. Jack kneeled down besides her and peered at the sleeping thing.

"You want to hold him? Anya asked, picking him up carefully and holding him out. Jack shrank away from the baby, and so she set him back in her lap.

"No," Jack looked curiously at the maid. She could have been pretty, but he saw the scars and wondered what had caused them. She seemed placid, though disturbed inwardly about something. Like there was a puzzle she needed to figure out, but had no pieces. She had taken off her cap, and her dark hair was twisted up into a knot of braids at the back of her neck.

"Why don't you leave the baby with someone on the ship, and come ashore to swim?" He said after a moment.

"No. I am content here on this chair in the sun," Anya leaned back again and closed her eyes, clearly dismissing him.

Jack stood up, confused. No one had acted like this to him on his ship. Well...there was the mutiny, but that was different. Here was a lowly maid pretty much telling her to leave him alone...on his ship! He walked away, shaking his head.

"Someone help me!" Anya's eyes snapped open as the cry came from the water. The small tender was bumping against the hull, and someone was calling for aid up.

"What is it?" She asked Francis who was the one to run to the opening in the bulwark. It was no dusk, and the second rotation had gone. Francis shrugged.

A man was hauled up, and was bleeding profusely. His right arm had a large gash through it, and he seemed faint. Anya–without exactly knowing what she was doing–all but shoved Isaiah into Francis' arms. She ran to the small cabin that she was given, and grabbed her sewing box, and the kerosene lamp that was burning low. She hurried back up to the deck, and forced the man down onto the wood.

"Hugh, is it? Hutt, hold him down. Can someone fetch something like rum...or gin? Anything like that will work." a bottle of rum was shoved in her hands. She placed two fingers over the opening and dribbled it on the wound. Hugh let out a groan of pain. She then dipped a length of thread from her box into the rum. After that she bade the man to drink; and as he was eagerly gulping down the vile drink, Anya took the smallest needle she had out of her box, took off the cover of the lamp and put the needle up to the flame. This done, she threaded the needle, and began to sew up the gash.

"How did this happen?" She asked, brows furrowed. Someone was smart enough to grab another lamp and so she had more light to work by. She was making conversation so that perhaps Hugh could take his mind off the pain he must have been feeling.

"I can't quite remember," Hugh said, resting his head against Anya's stretched out leg. She let him, and decided against conversation.

A small cheer came up from the remaining crew as she finished, and Hugh was carried off to the sick bay.

"How did you do that?" A voice asked from her elbow, as she gathered up her things and was looking around for Francis and Isaiah.

"What?" Anya looked around and saw Jack standing in the shadows behind her, his arms crossed.

"That was quite amazing. You acted faster then Hutt, who was practically the doctor on the ship. You had to have learned that from somewhere."

Anya shrugged, and brushed back a piece of loose hair. "I don't know. It just sort of...came to me." She admitted.

"Something like that just doesn't 'come to you'," Jack said, stepping out of the shadows. Isaiah was placed in Anya's arms and she checked him over; he seemed to have sustained no damage in being in the care of a pirate for a few minutes.

"I don't know!" Anya cried, annoyed at the mans persistance.

"You are very strange, Jackie," Jack said frowning. "How exactly did you come into the care of my late wife?"

Anya blinked. "She hired me."

"Well yes..I know that. But where were you before?"

"Port Royal," Anya shrugged. "I was working as a maid in the governors household. Then I got tired of the same place, I made my way to Maria."

"Port Royal? If you have never sailed before...how did you get all the way to Port Maria?"

"There are other ways to travel, Mr. Fox, other then by ship." Anya smiled wryly.

"Its Jack Sparrow now," Jack said curtly. Then, something seemed to dawn on him. "You said you were a maid in the governors house? And you look Russian..." he trailed off and walked away, clearly distracted. Anya watched after him, her face screwed up in confusion. Though Isaiah started to cry; she put it out of her mind.

* * *

"She isn't," Francis said stubbornly. "She can't be! She doesn't even talk like a Russian. She sounds purely Sussex,"

"But if she has never sailed before, and only remembered being in Jamaica...how did she get that accent?" Jack demanded.

"I dunno...maybe she grew up in a Sussex household? Its possible." Francis shrugged.

It was late at night, and the two where in the captain's cabin. A few candles were guttering in a tray on the main table, casting glows about the place. Jack was pacing slowly; Francis sitting at the oval table.

"I think she has lied to us," Jack stopped in front of the younger man. "I think she has indeed played us for a fool. What kind of name is _Jackie_ anyhow? Anya _Jacqueline_," Jack stressed. Francis shook his head stubbornly.

"She is no more Russian then you or I. I think she has amnesia, though."

Jack snorted. "She has her memory like you or I," he said in an imitation of Francis' voice. "Fine. We are going to keep her on the ship until we find out for sure. Tell her that I need to talk to my sister-in-law first. Then if what I find out is true or false we detirmine what to do next,"

Francis had to agree.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four: Why?

Jack sat on a deck chair and watched Anya. She was so strange to him. A puzzle if there ever was one, and the most vital clue; she claimed not to know. Was she really this Anya Jacqueline? Or was she just Jackie, the maid who worked for his late wife?

She was sitting in the morning light, squinting down at her work, her nose delicately scrunched as she worked on a piece of embroidery for Isaiah. A little Noah's Ark scene, Jack thought.

She was positioned to where he couldn't see the scars. Her profile was striking, and if he could only look at her this way, he would be pretty happy. Isaiah was in a small crib one of the crew made for him, besides Anya. She was singing in a dulcet tone a little tune he hadn't heard in a while.

"_As I was walking down in Stokes Bay,_

_I met a drowned sailor on the beach as he lay,_

_And as I drew nigh him, it put me to a stand,_

_When I knew it was my own true Love,_

_By the marks on his hand,"_

Jack closed his eyes as she took a breath to launch into the next verse. The crew started slowing their work; oblivious by Anya as she was concentrating on her stitching.

"_As he was a sailing from his own dear shore,_

_Where the waves and the billows so loudly do roar,_

_I said to my true Love, I shall see you no more,_

_So farewell my dearest, you're the lad I adore."_

By now most of the crew were standing still, either watching her or gazing out into the distance. Jack opened his eyes and smirked. It was a strange site to see these hard buccaneers wistful by the singing of a lady.

"_She put her arms around him saying, O! My dear!_

_She wept and she kiss'd him ten thousand times o'er_.

_Oh, I am contended to lie by thy side._

_And in a few moments, this lover she died."_

Anya looked up startled to see such an avid audience, but after much protestation, started the final verse.

"_And all in the churchyard these two were laid._

_And a stone for remembrance was laid on her grave,_

_My joys are all ended, my pleasures are fled_

_This grave that I lie in is my new married bed."_

The crew clapped and Jack mused that Anya looked like a startled dear. She smiled in thanks, and quickly started to round up her things; apparently going to flee to her cabin.

"Can you sew fairly well?" Jack walked over to the scrambling maid.

"Sorry?" She was always apologizing for things she needn't.

"I was wondering if you could stitch up a few sails. If you can do skin like a doctor, maybe you can do sails like a sailor. I'll pay you for your efforts."

Anya sat down heavily and looked around her. The morning was bright, the sea sparkling. They decided to sail to a bit deeper water, and try to avoid the sweeps that run out around the ports. They had false colors up, but one could never be too careful. That's one thing Anya always saw about the captain. He was always careful. Calculating. Never really giving up too much information at one time; if at all. There were thunder-heads out on the horizon, and a few crew members mentioned how it might rain. There was a smell in the air.

The sails were filled with wind, and they were making fairly good progress. The captain stated that they would reach Port Royal in a few days.

"I'm sure I can," Anya said slowly. She glanced at the sleeping Isaiah. Jack noted how her skin was a bit pinker from being in the constant sun, and it brought more color to her otherwise alabaster skin. "But you needn't pay me."

Jack called for someone to fetch the sails that needed mending, and sat down next to her, leaning against the bulwark. She crossed her legs in her skirt, and rummaged around her sewing box, frowning.

"I don't think I have a strong enough needle," She pointed out, emerging from the depths of her box, her dark brows now together in a look of frustration. She felt so put on the spot with him staring at her like that.

"And bring a needle!" Jack called over his shoulder, his eyes still on Anya. The items were brought and she began her work.

"Why do you wear that stuff on your eyes?" Anya ventured, her head bowed in work. That day she had let her hair down, and pulled back only the sides. She felt oddly free on a pirate ship, so this did not bother her. She bowed her head more, hiding behind the veil of hair that fell from her shoulders.

"The kohl?"

"If that is what it is,"

"It helps reflect the sun. Any small comfort helps." He made a mental note to try and make her wear it.

"I heard about your last ship," There was silence. Anya quickly shut her eyes in sypmathy and embarrassment. She was so stupid! She hardly knew this man, and was in an uncomfortable position as it were. I mean, come on! She was caring for his wife's baby by another man. Now she was bringing up what was most likely a sore subject.

"Who told you?" Jack finally asked calmly. He looked up into the large white billowing sails. It was a nice ship, the one that Lord Hanover had provided. It was no _Black Pearl_, but it was a large three masted ship. Fast too. He felt the wood under his hands. He would have to commend whoever did the swabbing.

"Francis–I mean Mr. Hanover,"

"He knows little of what happened." Jack grunted.

Anya sighed. He must not be too mad then, if he was talking somewhat. Her bravery slowly grew.

"Does anyone of the crew?"

"Hutt was about to sign the articles. So he knows a bit more then this crew. I just now picked them up. A few I have known before. Like Wyeth and O'Malley. I wouldn't have had them on my last ship, but they do for this one,"

Anya blinked, and lifted her head a little. He was in a talkative mood. "Why don't you covet this one like your last?"

"Because this one was free. Well...sorta. I have to do an errand." He carefully skirted around the subject. Maybe if he revealed a little of her, she would let her guard down and talk to _him_. "The _Black Pearl_...I bought her. I know...a pirate buying something. No, but I wanted her to be _mine_. Not stolen from somebody else. I _made_ her. Black ship with black sails. Nothing like her in the seven seas. One day I will have her back."

Anya was quiet for a long minute. His voice had taken on such zeal and...what was it? Hunger. Hunger for his ship. This one may have been grand, but it wasn't _his_, as he put it. He was such a strange man.

"Who is your sister-in-law like?"

"What is y our past like?" They both asked at the same time. Jack sighed and answered first.

"Charlotte is very nice," He said, trying to draw memory of the older woman. "She sits ram rod straight. She has three children who are grown. Only her youngest daughter; May stays with her as her companion. I think she never married. May, not Charlotte. Perhaps now with you in the house, you can be Charlotte's companion, and May can find her happiness."

"Perhaps she will want to join you," Anya joked, putting aside a finished sail. Jack chuckled, but noted a hint of something in her voice.

"Maybe," he said more to himself. "So, what is your past like?"

"Maybe I could stay here?" Anya suddenly blurted. She wanted to say anything then what she had confessed to Francis. Jack was taken aback, and was silent for a long stretch of time.

"Very funny," he finally said. "You promised to look after Isaiah for Isabel,"

Anya threw the sails away from her and grabbed up the now awake baby.

"He's your child," She said defensively, standing up, and all but glowering down at Jack. He stood up in turn, frowning.

"No. He isn't."

"Yes he is! Why cant you take him? I may have promised Isabel to look after him...but I didn't know she would die! I can't take care of a baby!"

"Your doing a good job of it now," Jack reasoned. But she would have none of it. Maybe she wasn't Anya Jacqueline after all. Maybe she was just a frazzled maid with a poor memory.

"Good day," Anya said cooling, taking her sewing box and leaving the half-finished sails on the deck floor. Jack gathered them up and frowned after her.

Francis soon walked over to where Jack still stood.

"What was that about?" Francis asked, clouting the captain on his shoulder.

"I don't think she is a Russian Princess,"

"She would be an archduchess. Or Tzarina. Not princess. But I think you are right. If she was, could you imagine how she would take it?"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five: Aunt Charlie

Anya wiped her hands on her skirt, and sighed. Her head was aching, and she couldn't smell the usual musty sent that lingered below deck. Just a cold, she told herself. She tried to smile down at Isaiah, who was now asleep in her bunk; pillow and blankets surrounding him so he didn't roll off.

Anya stumbled upstairs, hoping that maybe a bit of sunlight would do her good. But when going up on deck, she found that it was raining steadily.

"Great," she muttered, sagging against the bulwark, suddenly tired. Her eyes snapped open at a crack of thunder, and she decided to go to the galley.

"Why were you outside?" Jack demanded as soon as she entered the warm and dry galley. She found a fair few of the crew sitting at the large long common table, playing poker.

"I wasn't aware it was raining, "Anya snapped, sitting down on the edge of one of the two long benches.

Jack frowned over at her, noticing a sheen of sweet on her brow, on her laborous breathing.

"Are you alright?" He asked, scooting down the bench, closer to her.

"I'm fine," Anya said in a slow and cool voice.

But she wasn't fine. She was so tired. Her head hurt, her throat and body ached. What was wrong with her? She never got sick...

So tired, was what kept running through her mind. She put her head down on her arms, rested on the table. She closed her eyes.

"Jackie?" Jack asked, giving her a gentle prod. "Jackie?" Jack's poke became more rough, and somewhat frantic.

"Something is wrong with her," Jack said, and Francis jumped up from where he was winning a large hand. He gently picked up the now passed out girl, and followed Jack to her small cabin. After Jack gingerly took the baby and set it in its cradle, they put Anya in her bunk, and piled her with sheets.

* * *

"Well now, I'm glad you were awake. Gave that good for nothing brother-in-law of mine a run for his money," Anya's eyes fluttered open at those words. Something was different.

There was no rocking ship beneath her. The musty smell of the hold was gone, and sunlight was touching her eyes. She blinked.

"Isaiah!" Anya cried, trying to jump up and look around for the baby. A hand was placed on her chest and she was forced back down.

"He is asleep in the nursery," A woman was sitting besides the bed in which Anya was currently laying in. She had the appearance of a large bloodhound. She was austere looking, with her silver hair pulled as tight as could be and set into a knot at the top of her head. She was wearing a black simple gown, with a emerald brooch at her rooster like neck. She wore heavy rings on her fingers, and had a large opal bracelet on her left arm.

Anya slowly laid back against the soft pillows, and looked around the room with large eyes. It was plain. With white walls, a desk, and the bed, there was nothing else in it. The large windows opened out onto a balcony, however, making them seem out of place in the ordinary room. The bed itself was a double, with a beautiful stitched quilt, and down pillows.

"You must be Jackie. Jack said nothing except for your name. But...Isaiah looks nothing like him, nor you," Anya cracked a smile. This must be Charlotte. She had the same eyes as Isabel, she mused. And indeed, she sat ramrod straight.

"That would be because he is neither my baby, nor Mr. Fox's." Anya opened her mouth after that, to correct her blunder, but Charlotte held up a fat wrinkled had, and gave a wry smile.

"Well then, who's is he?"

"Miss Isabel's,"

"Oh dear, where is she? I have heard little of my sister since she married that man,"

"She died," Anya said in a small voice, fiddling with the quilt. "Giving birth to Isaiah." Silence filled the room, and Anya looked up to see Charlotte stony faced.

"I told her that man would be the death of her," she whispered.

"Well...he wasn't," Anya shrugged, biting her lip.

"Pardon?" Charlotte demanded.

"Well...the baby isn't Mr. Fox's. I don't know who's it is," Charlotte's mouth opened and closed, till she changed the subject all together.

"So, you got scarlet fever without even knowing it?" Anya's mouth dropped open.

"I thought it was just a cold..." She sputtered. "Oh my God...Isaiah!" She tried to get back out of bed, but Charlotte's strong arms held her down.

"He had a vaccination. Have you heard of those? They are a new thing. They inject the sickness into you, and somehow, it prevents it."

"What...?"

"Yes, it does work. Don't worry. You shan't catch it again. Now, I want you to rest up. You need to be fit as a flea in order to become my new companion. I will pay you of course,"

"Oh no," Anya protest, trying to smile. "I wouldn't want to do that. You are giving me and Isaiah a home," she was going to say more, but the smile Charlotte gave her made the girl stop.

"Don't mention it. I think you didn't exactly know what you were getting into, did you? Saying yes to Isabel, as I'm sure you did. And it's good for my daughter, May, to finally get out from under my impending wing. No, I will pay you, and give you a home. Food and lodgings, clothes, furniture, even books are on me. I have a vast amount of money, and no one to spend it on. Besides, you are my nephew's care-giver. I should think that is enough,"

Anya was stricken as to this woman's kindness. Yes, when you first see her, you think she would be an old mean spinster, but she was nothing of the sort. She was merely a very lonely old woman, who had very little family.

"Thank you, ma'am," Anya finally said, finding no other words.

"Call me Aunt Charlie," Charlotte said, and then left saying that Anya needed her rest, and the one maid could watch after Isaiah for the time being.

* * *

For the first time in a long time, Anya was happy. Charlotte was like her own aunt, caring yet stern when it came to her well being. She would sit in the large lofty parlor and play games. Or accompany the old woman into the vast gardens and help weed or point out flowers.

One thing Anya could not do, however, was read. It was just something she never learned. So, Charlotte decided she would teach the girl to read. And she did. They were progressing slowly, and Anya still couldn't read any of Dickens, or Shakespear, but she was getting there. Life was slowly settling in, and Anya began to put out of her mind the small time on the pirate ship with the egocentric captain. She wouldn't be foolish enough to say that she wasn't affected by the time there, but she didn't heartily speak of it. Not even to Charlotte.

On a cool day when there was a slight breeze and a promise of rain later on hung heavt, Anya was in the kitchen, shelling peas. Despite Charlotte's protest, Anya stubbronly said she would do work in exchange for all that they had done for her and Isaiah. She would work in the kitchen, or help the maids clean up the house. Her favorite was working in the gardens though.

"Jackie?" Anya looked up to see the head maid; Jean, walking in with a basket of laundry just off the line.

"Could you possibly run to the market place and get me some gloves? Here is the money, but I need to finish the laundry, and you know I hate to wring out the clothes without gloves," Anya nodded, took the few pounds and after telling Charlotte she would be right back, went out.

Anya hurried down the streets, glancing to and fro; and old habit. She hadn't suspected to be back in Port Royal again, and she was somewhat afraid of someone finding her.

"Excuse me," Anya almost ran head first into a very pretty lady.

"I'm sorry," she said, backing up a step. The lady had golden colored hair, curled in ringlets about her face. Her golden brocade dress shimmered in the patchy sunlight, and her face was curious looking.

"You used to work in my home!" she declared. Anya gulped.

"No, I don't think so..." she sputtered.

"Yes, you did! Jackie, wasn't it? I remember you. You once spilled a glass of water down my front! I daresay my husband found it amusing."

Anya didn't dare to speak.

"Where are you working now?" Anya knew her. Her name was Mrs. Georgina Keith, wife of the governor.

"Uh...Miss Charlotte's," Anya said in a whisper.

"Charlotte? Yes, her." Georgina's face grew cold. "She collects people like a spider would flies. Never letting them go until they are too old to want to leave. Be careful dear, and don't get too settled. I heard she does quite a number of things when she isn't happy,"

With that, Georgina, wife of the governor walked away, leaving Anya shaken. She had no clue why. Certainly it wasn't because of what she had said about Charlotte. Anya had no intentions of leaving, or getting married. She simply wanted a secure home. And she figured that she had found it.

* * *

Little did Anya Jacqueline know, that Jack Sparrow was to enter her life again. After being led on a wild goose chase, he was less then happy that he had the supposed Russian heiress right under his nose, and let her get away without checking first. He had been to distracted by her illness to care. He knew scarlett fever was no joke, and he thought she couldn't even begin to think of being the princess, or tzarina as Francis said.

Jack watched as Anya shook her self, and went to one of the small stores, then left back to Charlotte's home. He wouldn't be able to get her quite yet, but he would soon have her in his clutches, and only then would his new ship be his, and his money tightly secure in his pocket. He wanted to wield a bit of her power as well. He would simply have to wait a bit longer.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six : Wanted to be found

Jack silently stole into the large manor, gesturing for his two senior crew to follow. Anya was out with Isaiah, as always, and Charlotte was napping peacefully in her sitting room.

The pirates made their way into said sitting room, quiet enough so as not to wake the elderly aunt. Jack motioned for Francis and Osco to stand by the door, and he went to stand by Charlotte.

She had her head lolling against her shoulder, a book fallen upon her somewhat large lap. Jack never liked her. The eldest and more overbearing of the Witches...whoops, Sisters, as he called them. He never really had a qual with Rosemary, but then he had never met the youngest sibling, preferring to stay out of his late wife's family. Not his anymore...he delighted in that fact.

"Wondering when you would show up," Jack started, he had been musing. Charlotte had spoken, but her eyes remained closed.

"So then I was not unexpected. I hope you prepared a room then, I don't want to intrude."

"You can't have her, Derack."

"It's Jack now."

"You can't have her Derack," Charlotte repeated, opening her eyes and sitting up, a large scowl of distrust and all around dislike splayed on her features.

"Why do I want her, I wonder?" Jack put a finger to his chin, theatrically thinking.

"Do you love her?" Charlotte asked bluntly.

"No."

"Then why do you want her?"

"A reason, my dear Charlotte, you wouldn't understand."

"Try me,"

"No. When is she due back?"

Charlotte looked him up and down. His apperance had grown more haggard, she reckoned. His long brown hair that was usually in a neat pony-tail was loose around his shoulders, though seemed to have had a comb run through it in the last year. His face showed signs of stubble, and his clothes were a bit patched. His eyes were what caught the woman, though; hard and icy.

"Tell me, and I will tell you."

"Very well Charlotte. We do them my way."

888

"How could I tell anyone if _I_ didn't know!" Anya begged, for the millionth time, looking around at the sea of faces. How could things have gone so bad, so fast? She had simply been out for cloth, and next thing she knew, she was back on the pirate ship, heading to England. The moment she was in the captain's cabin–they still weren't out to sea yet–she was placed in a hard straight backed chair, and was now being interrogated but the four people standing around her.

"Stop the charade," Francis said, more kindly then the other three. His eyes were pleading, for her sake, as well as his.

"All I know is that my name is Anya Jacqueline. That's it! I don't remember anything past Jamaica."

"But how did you get to Jamaica?" Jack demanded, folding his arms across his chest.

"I don't know!"

"You accent is Sussex," Hutt snarled.

"I never knew. I don't know! Why would I lie to you now, when you have be cornered?" Anya was on the verge of tears. The only thing that kept her going was the escape plan she was slowly working on. But she would need to be believed before it even could be conceivable,

"Because you gain to lose quite a bit," Jack said thoughtfully. "That's enough." He waved a hand and the others left, leaving the captain and the captive together.

"So, princess," Jack drawled.

"Don't call me that," Anya snapped, feeling the bongs around her wrists.

"I'll take those off," Jack suggested, pulling out a dirk from his boot. "If you promise not to jump overboard."

Yes. This was exactly what she wanted. "I don't know how to swim," Anya shrugged.

"You don't know a lot of things," Jack bent down and cut loose the ties. She pulled her arms back around to her front, and massaged the raw flesh, glaring up at the captain.

"It's not my fault."

888

That night, she was allowed to eat on deck. They were sailing around the Jamaica coast, picking up some things in Morant, before heading out on the long sea voyage. Lush scenery sailed by and was soon lost in the twilight. All one could hear was the sound of the flapping sails, the sea, and occasionally a call of one of the many jeweled birds on the coast.

"Here," Jack said, walking into his cabin and shoving a few dresses into Anya's arms. She was sitting at his desk, distractedly pouring over some maps. She had them upside down.

"What are these?" Anya asked, standing up and inspecting the material.

"If you are a princess, you must at least look a bit presentable. Remember, the Hanover son is part of my crew; be nice, he might slip a word to his father."

Anya chose not to reply, but just looked at the two dresses. One was an almost swarthy red with black stripes, the other a pale blue.

"Am I to change, just to stay in the cabin?"

"No. You are eating on deck."

"Then leave so I might have some privacy." Jack obliged, and Anya silently danced around, pleased that her plan was working. But after five minutes of commending herself, she decided to put on the pale blue dress.

It was quite plain, but nice none-the-less. With a dipping bodice, and a satin sash, it looked quite well on Anya, except that the bust area was a bit too small, leaving the first three buttons in the front undone; fear for popping them. Instead of wearing the sash around her middle, Anya took it off the dress, and tied up her hair with it, having no pins. But she thought it was the best. She could do with less things...it would make it easier in the end.

"Ready, Princess?" Jack walked into the room after Anya had just smoothed back her hair. "You look fit enough to eat." His eyes lingered on her breasts, and then he grabbed her by the elbow, leading her out to the deck.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Francis hissed to Jack as they walked by.

"Relax," Jack shrugged. "She can't swim,"

888

Jack soon regreted those words. As soon as he had heard the splash, and not seen Anya at his side, he knew exactly what she had done. Smart lass, he thought, while jumping up and throwing off his coat and boots. Tricked him, but he would not let it happen again.

888

Anya ran through the brush, back down the coast line to a small fishing village that had went by a half hour ago. She had taken off the dress, now only in her white under shift; making it easier to run. She thought she heard footsteps, but soon realized they were her own.

After fifteen minutes, Anya slowed to a stop, gasping for air. Deciding that no one was around, she peeled off the night shift, and started to wring it out, happily applauding herself for such a smooth action. Why, she had just outsmarted a pirate! And the odds were against her! Oh the sweetness of it made Anya giggle. She stopped, when she heard a twig snap.

"First the whiteness of your shift, and now the white beacon of your body. If I didn't know better, Princess, I'd say you wanted to be found,"


	7. Chapter 7

Warning! bit of adult situations(ontly a titch) and a lot of angry Jack, who is quite rage-full. It is explained later on the chapter, so don't blame me! He is a bloody pirate...he can't always be jovial! He is prone to being a dick every now and then.

Chapter seven: A Sparrow's rage

Anya was slammed into the ground, Jack falling on top of her. A horrible realization that she was nude went through her mind, making her squirm with embarrassment and hatred for the captain.

"You were unwise to run, Princess," Jack said in a husky voice into her ear. "Very unwise,"

Anya was breathing heavily, as was Jack. She had given up as fair of a chase as possible, the many twigs and branches of the brush scraping at her bare skin, causing her to gasp in pain, and slow down, finally to falter all together.

Anya opened her mouth to let out a scream, but Jack's long fingered hands covered her lips, and warning look on his face. Anya bucked, and bit his finger, and he removed it, only to replace his hold with his lips.

She gasped at the searing heat that went from her mouth. He took advantage and violated her even more, pressing down that she almost choked. Jack shifted, suddenly aware that she was naked, and dragged his fingers down from her stomach to the sensitive curls at her loins. His digits entered her, and she let out another gasp, and bucked again; this time in an involuntary jerk of pleasure.

"Jack? Answer or I think she will have killed you!" Francis's voice floated over their heads. Jack cursed slightly.

"I got her, but please allow the princess some privacy."

Anya squirmed, still aware of his fingers. Jack looked down at her, knowing this as well. He gave her one last hard kiss, before hauling her up to her feet, taking off his shirt, and handing it to her. She put it on gratefully, and it reached the backs of her knees. Anya couldn't bring herself to look Jack in the eye, but he grabbed her wrist with a vice like grip and tramped her through the brush.

"Weren't too rough on her?" Francis asked, frowning as he saw her many cuts in the moonlight. He noticed her scarlet blush and bruised lips, and his eyes narrowed, but he said nothing about it. He knew better then to question his captain.

Jack looked over at her as they went to the rocky beach, where a small tender was waiting for them. She looked deliciously rumbled, with her hair in a dark cloud around her face, and her eyes downcast. The shirt she wore was wet, and clung to her, outlining perfect breasts and a supple waist.

They finally reached the ship, and Jack all but threw the captive into his cabin, and slammed the door behind him.

"You could have gotten yourself killed!" Jack yelled, gesturing to her body. "Or worse! Are you that stupid? How do you know anyone would help you? There are men out there who would have a woman, with or without her consent.

"Like you?" Anya asked haughtily, rising to her full height–all of 5'3–and glowering up at Jack, finally finding her words.

"No," Jack said in a low voice now, dangerously silky. "I could have done a lot worse."

"Is that how you take out your anger?" Anya cried, peeling at the wet shirt. "By forcing women? You claim that you would never touch one, and yet you violate me back there!"

"You deserved it!"

"Oh really?" Now Anya's voice was low. But there was something more shrewd lacing it then Jack could fathom. "So if I make a mess, or do this," She pushed all the maps from Jack's desk onto the floor, "You are going to kiss me? To enter me? Make me cry out, and scream? Is that your form of punishment, Mr. Foxx?"

"Its Sparrow!" Jack bellowed, advancing on her.

"Oh I'm scared!" Anya waved her hands in front of her, as if she was warding off an angry mob of flies. "You might kiss me!"

"Listen girl," Jack growled, taking her up by her shoulders, and picking her up so her feet no longer touched the floor, but rather dangled helplessly. He gave her a hellacious shake; so hard that her head was flung back and forward.

"I could shake your head clean off your body! And yes, I could rape you. I would almost take pleasure out of it, because I pretty much hate you at this moment. But if I were to hurt you, I would bloody well flog you, or tie you naked up on the mizzen mast!" Jack took a deep breath, and set down the shaken woman. "Though I can't. Consider yourself lucky."

With that, Jack strode from his cabin, leaving Anya to huddle withing her self, eyes wide with horror and something else that she couldn't name, and didn't want to. She blinked a few times, and finally sunk to the hard wood floor, shaking uncontrollably.

"You mustn't anger Jack so," Francis said gently, peeling the shirt from Anya's back, wielding a damp rag. Anya was still shaking, and flinched with every word and touch. Francis slowly started to mop up her cuts and scrapes, shaking his head. He decided not to choose sides.

"It's not my fault!" Anya cried in a small voice. "I didn't ask to be taken out of my home, and to some place I don't even know! I have never been to Russia! How could I be the bloody tzarina? Wouldn't I remember something like that? Would you have run?"

"I'm not a tzarina,"

"But would you?" Anya begged the answer from him.

"Yes," Francis said slowly.

"Its not my fault the captain has so much anger. I didn't take his goddamn ship."

"No," Francis agreed, giving her a score on that one. "But you shouldn't goad him. He has an awful temper, and as you can see, he takes it out in that way.

"But why?" Anya demanded, shuddering as Francis slid the rag across her shoulder blades.

"Because, when he was nought but seventeen–Hutt told me this–he killed a guard because he was angry at being sent to his room."

"A guard?"

"Jack was the son of a duke. They had royal guards, its no uncommon."

"And so...?"

"So his father told him to pick another way to take out his aggression. He was never blamed for the murder,"

"So his father told him to use sex to take out his aggression?" Anya's heart dropped, and she felt like a ice fist was closing on her spine.

"Yes, and no. He never really does. Its more like, when he is mad, he goes and has a whore. He never hurts them or anything, and he pays them well."

"Oh," Anya was exceedingly uncomfortable with this talk, and squirmed, arching her back away from Francis.

"Do you want these cleaned or not?" The young Hanover asked, not unkindly. "They could get infected,"

Anya allowed him to finish, and she sent him from the cabin. She dressed back into her grey gown she had been taken in, and grabbed up the quilts on Sparrow's bed. Making a small pallet on the floor as far away from the bed as she could, she fell into the most fitful of sleeps she ever had.

Flashes of people and places wrought her unfocused mind's eye. She saw things she didn't recognize, and strange people who jeered at her, and called her names. In one image, she was standing in a magnificent throne room. People were bowing to her deeply, and on their knees. A man to her left handed her something, but she could not see it. A mirror was brought to her, and she saw she was dressed in rich ermine and red velvet. Her scars were not there.

Anya was started awake by a loud curse. Jack was pouring over a map, a frown puckering his brow. She laid absolutely still, breathing in short shallow breaths, fear once again upon her. The realization that she was on a _pirate _ship, with _pirates _who could, and most likely _would_ take advantage of her, and do things most foul.

She had not been this afraid the last time. She was merely being transported from one side of Jamaica to another. She had even befriended most of the crew. But now when she was marched by solemnly, they jeered at her as if she was a trophy they would soon hawk and profit her with rum and women.

Jack ran his fingers through his hair, and closed his eyes. Why had his rage taken him? He felt so guilty at that moment, so...ah he didn't know. He always was like this. With the whores of Tortuga, after he had them, he would demand if he hurt them. They would look beamused and say no, but he still didn't believe them, and always paid them twice more what they usually asked.

The _look _on Anya's face was what kept haunting him. She sheer fear and betrayal, like she never thought that of him was so vivid, that he couldn't sleep. When he saw her lying on a blanket in the corner of a room, a knot at the bottom of his stomach did another loop and tightened. Francis had told him how she had been. Shaking, and flinching at everything. And it was all _Jack's _fault. He had no one else to blame but himself.

But she had run! She had taken something he believed and ran with it; literally. At first, for a split second, he thought she would drown. That was until he saw her white arms powerfully pulling her to shore, against the current. He was so angry, he could have done anything. _He almost did_.

Why did he always feel like this? Now he had all but ruined the girl, and would never gain back her trust. His conscience would always plague him, Jack thought grimly. Just as it did now.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks to me reviewers...and no, he is not a rapist. When he gets mad, he has sex. Not rough, or anything like that. Just plain sex.**

Chapter eight: The hardest part

Anya was allowed free reign of the ship once they got out to open sea. Any other time Jack would have confined her to his cabin, but he felt apathy for her situation and allowed her this small luxury. She was still not to be talked to, and must be watched at all times. No one would underestimate again, though they were still unaware what she was capable of. They were just plain wary, and the was most likely for the best.

After a few days of walking around the deck, Anya decided to start working in the galley, as she liked to cook a few meals, and always felt better when working for others. It had been her only known life. And she took over the job with ease, allowing Hutt to do more "pirate duties", like sleep against the bulwark, and whittle.

The crew were thankful for her light hand in the galley, and prospered from her ministrations as cook. She would never say more then a few words, but when she did, it was only after she had been addressed first. The crew started calling her–though not to her face–The Kitchen Mouse.

Jack and Anya avoided one another. Anya would have been fine if he simply said he was sorry, but the man was like a peacock, strutting around his small ship, as if it was his old galleon. And Jack himself was too guilty feeling to approach the girl, in case she bawled him out like a mother hen. He determined to give her a little time, before trying to at least be civil once again. They rarely went into each other's domain, and if they did, nothing was said; and you could cut the tension with a cutlass.

One morning, a week after her little escapade that had sent them back a few days, Anya was busy in the kitchen, just sending the pirates away with breakfast.

She was wiping a small cup with the hem of her large gypsy skirt, flustered as a few spots that refused to come out.

The sunlight flittered in weekly, as it was nearing winter. The farther north they went, the cooler it got. (Having no means of clothing for cool weather, Francis had easily given her his own jacket, borrowing one of Jack's for himself. She looked a sight, in a wide grey skirt and somewhat tight bodice, wearing a dark blue military issue jacket that was twice her size; her hair always coming out of its twists to frame her face.) And the galley was most likely the warmest place, having the ship's oven lit half of the time mainly for her own warmth. Anya always got cold easily.

"Oh, sorry...I didn't know you were in here,"

Anya glanced up to see Jack walk in, and stop dead in his tracks. He's eben avoiding me like the plague, Anya mused.

"I just wanted an apple," Anya set down the cup with a dejected sigh, and grabbed an apple from the basket besides her.

"Here," She grunted, tossing it easily to the irritated captain. He caught it, and they stood there for a moment.

"Listen," Anya began, feeling like she should say something.

"No. You listen," Jack took a breath, irritated about how he felt. "Im sorry. I was just really really really angry with you back there. I didn't mean to do that,"

Anya blinked, and let out a slow breath. "Its alright,"

"No, its not." Jack said sternly. "I betrayed your trust and..."

"You betrayed my trust when you kidnaped me and are sending me to England because of some flash in the pan theory that I could be ruler of Russia. Wouldn't I know something that important? How much you want to bet that this Lord Hanover fellow is just going to beat on me, and maybe even take me, when I cant honestly give him information."

"I wouldn't let him..."

"No," Anya shook her head. "You would, because you want money. You are a pirate, Mr. Sparrow. Its not entirely unexpected."

Jack was now angrier at himself. She was so...defeated sounding. And she thought that of him. What was it? It was like she was a slave, who finally decided not to fight when being whipped. That made him work his jaw in frustration.

"Im sorry," he offered, shuffling his feet. "But, its just...he promised to help me get back my _Pearl_,"

"Just stop," Anya ordered, placing her hands on the counter, trying hard not to cry and laugh at the same time. "I know that your ship is more important then some maid who worked for your dead wife. And if I was ever in your situation, I would probably do the same...anyone would. Just go and take the helm. I want to get this over with. The sooner I surrender, the easier it is on all of us,"

She turned back around and placed the cup into one of the cabinets with another gut wrentching sigh.

"Anya..I..." Jack began again.

"Just leave," Anya said quietly, pursing her lips together, still with her back to the captain.

Footsteps receaded and soon were not heard again. Anya had to quickly sit down, feeling like such a failure, not knowing who she was, or where she was going. She was completely in the dark, and blind as well. All she knew was that her name was Anya Jacqueline, and that was it.

Anya felt a slight wave of sympathy towards the pirate captain. He had lost his ship and crew in one swift movement. His wife had died, and then the whole hassle with herself. He seemed to have other deep inlaying problems other then those she knew about. It wasn't entirely his fault for being so muddled about his current situations. She could tell that he felt guilty for his actions, and she did forgive him for that one time back on the shore. She would never really get passed her abduction. However, that one time she could forgive because in some way, she desirved it. She had escaped and she would have been made if the roles reversed.

Anya herself was confused. She felt a wave of sympathy and disgust mingle on one shore together, for this man. Coupled with the desire to go back to Aunt Charlie's, and see Isaiah, who was practically her own son.

With a bit of repulsion, Anya laid her head down on her arms and let the wrangled tears flow freely from her dark eyes, letting it all out as she never had done before; never being one for tears, but more for action.

* * *

Jack strode into his cabin to see Anya asleep on his bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, and looked so pale against the dark brown quilt, and her own dark hair. He could tell from the streaks on her chin that she had been crying a great deal, and a pang went through his mind; his fault. He sat down in his desk chair and grabbed a bottle of rum that was closest to him.

She had spoken nothing but truth, Jack thought grimly. Though she had not been too afraid to address the situation with a blunt force that he would have never gotten from anyone else. Then again, she was quite different from anyone else he knew.

A feeling of something crept out of his guilt; though its name, he would be able to say. But a strange feeling of wanting to protect her, and turn back away from England and old man Hanover was so strong, he almost got up and went to the helm to change direction.

He didn't though. It would only mean more trouble for them all.

Jack observed that after he took her to England, he wouldn't have to see her again, and simply take Anya off his thoughts for good. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Jack knew it was wrong.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine: Sudden memory

Anya jerked awake with a horrid headache, and her throat feeling like she had swallowed glass along with sand. But that wasn't the cause for her sudden arrival back into reality from dreamland.

She sat in the bed, gasping for breath; the quilt clutched in a death grip about her. She had always thought...she meant...anyone would. Why didn't she remember that before? All those times...God. She was on the verge of tears again. Twice in a week was mind shattering for her. It was like after the kidnaping, her world was thrown upside down and shaken by the ankles in a fit for information. She knew now...at least a bit that could possibly discern the rest of her past.

"Anya?" Anya swung her head around wildly to see Jack peering at her concernedly; sitting in his desk chair with a book in his hands. It was such an odd site, that she was practically thrown off her train of thought. It was dark out, and she thought it must be around seven p.m. or so.

"Utopia," Jack offered, following her gaze and giving the book a slight wave. "Are you alright?"

Anya was now shaking. She was so startled by the flash of her own memory. _It wasn't a dream_. She was afraid of telling Jack, for him thinking along those lines.

"I...I..." She couldn't find any words. "My throat hurts," she finally said lamely. Jack gave a single nod and strode out of the room, returning quickly with a tray; on it a cup filled with hot tea. Anya gratefully took it, and quickly took a gulp. She grimaced, and almost spit it out, back Jack bade her to drink it all down.

"I laced it with a bit o' rum, and some tonic that helps soothe the nerves and throat."

"Is it scarlet fever again?" Anya asked as she choked down the rest of the remedy.

"No, once you have that, you never get it again."

"Oh,"

"Why are you so shaken?" Jack asked after a moment. Anya took a deep breath, her throat starting to indeed feel a bit better. Her head, however, was still a different matter.

"I..suddenly remember something," she said in a quiet voice, trying to chose her words carefully.

Instantly, Jack leaned forward in the desk chair he had sat back down in, a hungry look in his face. Something, anything, could help the current situation he was dealing with.

"Yes?" Jack encouraged.

"I..." Anya tried hard not to let the tears that were brimming in her eyes fall. "I was married,"

Whatever Jack was preparing to hear, this was not on the list. In fact, if he could make a list of most improbable things(nothing was impossible) that would be at the top of the list. All was quiet for the longest of time. They could have sat there in silence for minutes, hours, or even years. Time seemed frozen as Jack tried–and failed–to digest that piece of information.

"Your...your sure?" After almost ten minutes passed, Jack finally got his lips to form around words, though they were far away sounding, and rather lost.

"Yes,"

Jack had to stare intently at the woman. He had just given her a passing glance, he would have thought her quite unperturbed, as her face was passive. But, there were tears forming in her eyes, that were so filled with sorrow, it somehow made Jack's heart ache. She loosened her grip on the blankets, instead cradling the cup in her hands as if it would keep her strong, and she could never let go. Her usually thick lips were pressed in a thin line, and a worry crease stuck out on her brow. She was indeed telling the truth.

"Where is he?" Jack ventured, taking a deep breath and trying to dispel the thoughts that were popping up in his mind.

"Dead," Anya said heavily. "He died in battle. I don't know where..."

"Do you have any proof? If you do then it is most likely that you aren't the tzarina of Russia,"

"I told you I'm not!" Anya cried, throwing the cup from her. It fell to the floor without breaking, and she was left to stare dumbly at it.

"But you can't remember your past," Jack argued. "And if you remember something, you have no proof. I know Lord Hanover, and his lust for power. He will not stop if you tell him you were married. He will not stop if you tell him you remember your past. If there is a chance you are the tzarina," He raised a hand to silence her and continued, "If there is a chance, then he will make sure to get everything he can out of it."

It was a dreary picture of her future, painted by the captain; Anya thought bitterly. Now the ball of dread in her stomach grew even bigger and it took a moment for her to finally be able to speak.

"Then why are you sending me to him?" She demanded in a harsh whisper.

"Because I have no other choice!" Jack yelled, standing up again to pace the length of the cabin. "He has already paid me. _This _ship was from him. If he wants to, I could be stranded on an island, _again_," he added as an afterthought, more to himself. "Anyways, as much as I would want to, I cant simply let you go. I would have a lot to answer for."

"But you're a pirate!" Anya argued. "What is one more person who hates you, and is after you? You will most likely never live another ten years."

"Don't be so sure," Jack said soberly. "I have a score to settle, and I will live to see that day, whenever that is."

"And what do you do from here until then?"

"Do what pirates do best, Anya..." He trailed off, and a sudden thought hit him. "Anya? You are unwell. We should rest in Portsmouth so you can recover your health..."

Anya's eyes started to sparkle. "I do feel a bit of the ague coming on."

"Rightly so. We can't risk the future ruler of Russia's life."

* * *

Jack opened the door and instantly noticed Anya pacing around like a caged lioness. He shut the heavy wood behind him, and leaned against it. Anya stopped and shot a scathing look over at him, her black eyes shining with anger.

"I thought you said we would be buying time!" She screamed, turning to face him fully. Sunlight flittered slowly into the open window, and the people of Portsmouth bustled about in the early morning. They had been in the sea side port almost a week now, supposedly to help the "ailing" tzarina.

"We are." Jack said coldly.

"Then how come we aren't doing anything?" Anya cried, and flung herself onto the bed with a yell.

"We are just buying time, Anya." Jack said, taking a step into the room. "That is all. But time is not on our side, and eventually we will have to continue to Lord Hanover. There is no way out of this situation."

"Then make a way!" Anya sniffed, her face pushed into a pillow. "I don't care if you have to say that I died at sea, or I was trampled by a pack of raging sea nymphs..." She took a breath to continue, but stalled as Jack busted out laughing. She raised her flushed face from the bed and stared with wide eyes at Jack who was sprawled on a chair barking with laughter.

"A pack of raging sea nymphs? Honestly, Anya." Jack became serious. "I once said that I would rather not take you there. But I have an obligation. He gave me almost ten thousand pounds. Which just about covered the cost of supplies for the crew, not to mention the extra ones I had to pick up once we were detoured from your little escape," Anya blushed. "As well as repairs and the wages. Anya, I maybe have a hundred pounds left. I can't pay him back. And I don't exactly want to give up the ship. I am sorry."

Anya slowly rose from the bed. Her chin jutted out and her eyes were completely cold and angry. She took the few steps between her and Jack and with a swift movement, drew back her hand and slapped him.

"I hate you!" she screamed, as Jack felt his stinging cheek, surprised at the amount of strength she threw into that single blow.

"Anya," He said slowly, his eyes narrowing.

"No. Just hurry up and send me to my death. I only hope that when you go to sleep at night, you will forever be haunted by the fact that you sent an _innocent_ person to the wolves. I curse the day I ever went into your wife's service. _Thank you _for the extra time you have given me to dwell on my fate." She snarled sarcastically. " Thank you, _Derack Fox_."


End file.
